


aisatsu

by FamiliarBluebird



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FamiliarBluebird/pseuds/FamiliarBluebird
Summary: A story of how Kaze meets Xander, and how he continues to meet Xander.
Relationships: Marx | Xander/Suzukaze | Kaze, Saizo & Suzukaze | Kaze
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

I was nine when I was summoned to my father. I kneel in front of the current Saizo, staring at the intricate patterns of the tatami. My small knees are nothing compared to the dents many men before me had impressed upon the straw mat.  
"Suzukaze." It is an acknowledgment of my existence, one I am unaccustomed to from my father.  
"You will accompany your brother to the Nohrian negotiations," comes my father's voice. My head bows lower in understanding. It is our clan's duty to serve the throne, and my brother was to be the prince's perpetual head servant and protector. Such is the duty of the first-born son of Saizo, just as my father is for King Sumeragi.  
It was not expected of me to answer; ninja were to hear and understand all.  
"I expect you will not be a burden. Dismissed." My father's tongue is as sharp as always. I try not to hear the same steel my brother had adopted within. I bow and excuse myself from the room, trying to understand my purpose on this trip.

No doubt my brother had gone before me; he waits for me outside the counsel room. "You'll see some of the world," he says stiltedly; we had both learned that words travel quickly in Igasato.  
It is his idea of offering words of comfort.  
"You knew," I answer. I berate those words as soon as they leave my mouth; of course he would know my fate before I do.  
He grunts in return. He had started using his words less, I note. Just like our father. Saizo had stopped his excited accounts of High Prince Ryoma and what honors had been bestowed of him by Father: it is better I do not know.  
Perhaps I agree. My duty is not similar to my brother's at all. He is the future Saizo, and I his liegeless bother. I am not interested in such matters of royalty, though it remains my duty nevertheless.  
My brother seems to notice my mind has wandered, a rare moment for him. "Let's rehearse Nohrian proper speech after dinner," he suggests. He is much more fluent than I, so it is for my sake. I wouldn't need to use it in Cheve, as I am a wordless ninja.  
I comply.

It's only a few days after that I finally understand.  
"You asked Father if I could come."  
Another grunt from my brother.  
I find myself confused by his answer, but I could not bring myself to words. I swallow my questions and continue with my mindless task: descaling a river trout.

Our traveling group to Cheve seems small, but I know our numbers deceive. Six men of Igasato are positioned within the trees, watching every movement from above. Should anything happen, our party would double in size. I remind myself not to give their locations away with my gaze, but my eyes are drawn to admiring the leafy greens of the familiar Hoshidan forests. It would not be long until it would give way to barren plains.  
I remind myself to look forward. To the sides. Forward. Sides.  
My father leads the group with King Sumeragi. Behind that, my brother and High Prince Ryoma. Ryoma speaks elatedly about the legendary blade Raijintou, said to call down the powers of the Thunder God himself. Saizo feigns interest.  
I trail with Takumi. He complains of the journey, lamenting the lack of activities and the state of his feet. I remind him that the journey is not long yet, and offer a Igasatian salve from my pack; it is refused.  
Behind us, servants and our belongings follow. Niceties for Nohr, provisions for our trip, and some extra, in case of emergency. I am to join them, when Takumi has no more need of me.

The trek of nine days passes without event. King Sumeragi teaches High Prince Ryoma of the local flora, reminding him that he should know of every living inhabitant of his future domain. Saizo and I watch the exchange longingly. Takumi seems to have grown tired of complaining, having adopted a sullen and reluctant compliance.

We are greeted warmly in Cheve. The knights of Cheve always receive royalty with hearty ceremony; it is not for me. I watch the knights bow for our country's leaders; King Sumeragi's commanding yet jovial aura seems to grow tenfold as deference is shown. High Prince Ryoma's breast juts out, displaying the pride of his royalty. Had I not been trained, I might have missed my brother's deceptive stealth in Ryoma's shadow.

Later that evening, I am given freedom to explore Cheve. It is as my brother had said; I could see some of the world. With Saizo tending to some matter unrelated to me, I was alone.  
It is the way I prefer.

I wander through the streets of the capital, admiring the products merchants had on display. It is a festival; sellers showcase their finest goods, hoping to catch the eye of royalty who might one day become their commissioners.  
I have no enthusiasm for their extravagant golds and silvers. I take interest in a modest stall, with only one other patron. It's a wood carpenter's stand; intricate depictions of dragons and flowers cover the seller's space. I bow slightly to the carpentress as is common in our lands, catching myself partway; here, it is not done.  
I marvel at the craftsmanship of a wooden sparrow. She's observant, and gives her permission for me to inspect it closely without prompt.  
It fits in the palm of my hand. The bird is impossibly smooth, delighting my fingers with every touch. I could discern each feather on its back; the maker surely had knowledge of which were used for flight and which were used for gliding. I hold it tightly, fearing it might fly away from my grip if I were to drop it.

In my fixation, I only realize I am being watched when it is too late. I startle, unbecoming of a ninja, and grasp the sparrow close to me. It is the only other patron, a boy of my age with curly hair of gold, watching me inspect the object.  
"I'm sorry for scaring you," he starts, Nohrian dialect ripe in his voice, looking rather taken aback.  
"The mistake is mine," I reply. I had never used the Nohrian dialect of our language on somebody that was not Hoshidan. I wonder if I had made myself understood.  
I plan to escape from this situation. I gingerly place the bird back in its spot. Such an object is meant for royalty, I knew. if one needed to ask how much it would cost, undoubtedly it would be too expensive. I do not own many things, yet I regret not having the funds to make it mine.  
My gaze lingers too long on the bird. I can feel the boy's gaze burrow itself in the side of my head; he must take pity on me.  
As I prepare to leave, the boy speaks. "I want that one, please." The words are polite, but contain an air of command.  
It's none of my business, yet I cannot help but wonder which piece has captivated his attention. My eyes follow his finger. He wants the sparrow. I feel a strange feeling of ownership flare up over the trinket, though I know I have no claim to it in the least.  
The seller nods, "Of course; it's yours."

I am shocked. She expects no pay from him. Could it have been that easy to own it? I briefly consider snatching it and fleeing, and banish the thought as quickly as it came, yielding the way for the boy in gold to take it.  
He takes the sparrow, trying to mirror the delicacy with which I had handled it. His hands tremble, and I can see why. Those hands knew swords better than they knew kunai and shuriken; they were built for power instead of precision.  
"Here," he says, offering it in my direction. I glance over my shoulder, thinking he must be speaking to somebody else. There is nobody else.  
"It's for you," he insists. I could not recall receiving a gift before.  
"For me?" Confusion decorated my inadequacy.  
"Yes," he presses, insisting the bird upon me once more.  
I pause, considering a trap of some sort. But such an explanation did not come to me.  
"... Thank you." I admire it once more. It is mine. An unidentifiable feeling wells up in me; it's warm and proud. I hold the sparrow close to my breast.

"I thought you might like it." He looks proud.  
I don't know what else to say. "Thank you."  
This answer does not seem to please him. "Don't you?"  
"I do," I insist. "A lot. Thank you."  
"Hoshidan," he states, with a frown. I don't know what he means by that. It must be apparent from my clothing, from my manner of speech, or perhaps from my appearance.  
I have nothing to say to that.

"I'm Xander," he explains.  
He holds out a hand. I had been explained this gesture before, but I had not practiced it much. I shake it with my right with unfamiliarity, making sure the bird does not fly away with the left.  
Knowledge is a facet of power, so is said in Igasato. "I'm Kaze," I reply. I did not have the heart to decline giving my name, not after receiving the wooden sparrow.  
"Okay! We're friends now, Kaze!" he answers excitedly. It reminds me of Ryoma.  
I do not consider him my friend, but I smile and nod. Xander must have a lot of other friends. I glance over his shoulder, expecting to see a group of them-- but there were none, just adults about on their business.  
He's observant and notices. He seems to deflate for a beat, but continues nonetheless. "Come on! I saw some daggers two sellers over! You'll love it!"  
I cannot manage a half-bow to the seller before being pulled by my hand to the next store.

Xander shows me his favorites; one with a purple hilt and gold insets, another with black and purple. I deduce that his favorite color must be purple.  
He brings me his preferred festival food, explaining the special way the farmers in neighboring fields treat the goats in order to get the cream just so. He doesn't seem to mind that I have little to add.

When the festival's torches begin to die out, he takes his leave. "I need to head back. They'll wonder where I've gone," he explains. "Thanks for being my friend, Kaze!"  
I hadn't done anything special, I felt. "Thank you for your gift." It hadn't left my grasp since I got it.  
He swells up with a smile. "You're welcome! 'Till we meet again!"  
That didn't seem likely to me. I come from Igasato, and he from Nohr; two worlds apart. "Until then," I answer.  
He runs off in a sprint.

I realize that I had made a friend.


	2. negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations at Cheve start; Kaze finds Xander.

It is on the second day of our visit that our nations are to meet. King Sumeragi represents the Hoshidans, and King Garon the Nohrians. My father counsels the King on matters I could not understand in a different room, while I watch my brother work to make High Prince Ryoma presentable. It asumes me how Saizo attempts to tame Ryoma's wild hair; as if it could be contained by something as primitive as a leather band. His rough hands have not the patience to tease Ryoma's hair into position.  
"Come," I say, leaping from my perch. It could not be said, from somebody with as low a rank as I. But he is my brother, after all.  
With a huff, Saizo allows my intervention. I stand behind Ryoma and collect his hair into a single bunch. I am amazed by how much of it there is; it seems to have a life of its own.  
"Queen Mikoto says you've been taking good care of your hair." This prompts as quizzical look from Saizo: yes, brother, there are things of which you do not know, but Ryoma answers elatedly.  
"Yeah! She said I'm going to have to if I want it like Dad's."  
"Oh? Then you've heeded her words well," I reply as I comb through Ryoma's hair, being sure to persuade any unruly strands to submission. My mother allows me to help her when Saizo is away and I am otherwise unoccupied, so these movements are familiar to my hands.  
"You're much better at this than Saizo." My brother's eyes burn into my forehead as if I had said it, but I pretend not to notice. "Saizo has yet to learn."  
His hair is too short yet to pull it back like King Sumeragi's, so I settle for tying it up. I find a red ribbon and tie a neat knot in his hair near his scalp-- guaranteed to stay put while Ryoma behaves. "Is that comfortable?"  
Ryoma gives his head an experimental set of tilts, testing for any pulling. "Mm-hm."  
"Good." I shoot my brother a teasing wink and return to my perch. It's petty, but I have learned to enjoy these moments when they are offered.

Saizo continues where he'd left off; over propriety in negotiations and what Ryoma is to pay attention to, of the details of the land in question and the people within. Ryoma looks disinterested, but listens as was expected of a noble.  
These matters do not concern me, so my hand drifts towards my pocket. Within the span of a morning, I had already developed a bad habit of absent-mindedly rubbing Xander's present, enjoying the way it felt under my thumb.  
I freeze when Saizo notices me fidgeting. We are not to have attachments; they are a liability that could muddle swift judgment. Saizo does not need to speak to impress upon me that I had messed up. His lesson continues, and I guiltily return my hands to my lap.

When it is time for the discussions, we file into in the chamber in our usual order. It is the first time I will see the royalty from Nohr with my own eyes, but if the stories are to be believed, their strength rivaled that of a lion. Though their lands did not offer much of bounty, they were compassionate for their people beyond measure.  
Those were not the words I would have chosen to describe King Garon. I saw a beaten husk of a king before me; I could barely call him a man. His wrinkled skin seems not to have seen life in years; it was barely a thin wrapper around his skull. A frenzied fire dances in his eyes, scrutinizing everything it could grab ahold of. He walks with a staggering gait, domineering the space he occupies.  
He is accompanied by his son—Xander, I quickly realize. The boy from before. Just as Ryoma was here to learn the art of debate and negotiation, so too did Xander attend the discussion. Though he handled himself with dignity, I could not have guessed he was a Prince.

I can't tell if he recognizes me. If he does, he doesn't show it. All kindness and enthusiasm which had been present in his face yesterday is now replaced with an expression of cold marble. Though just a boy compared to his father, he claims space of his own.  
The leaders take their places on opposite sides of a large polished round table of marble; Xander to Garon's right, and my father to Sumeragi's. Ryoma is on Sumeragi's left, and Saizo to Ryoma's. Takumi and I are merely silent observers, seated further away from the table and unobstructed.  
It must be intimidating, I think, to be opposite six Hoshidans when your own group is only two. It seems the Nohrians had no need for advisors or guards; I do not know what that meant.  
An uneasy air swallows me whole as I stare at Xander; a thick tension hung about the room, making it difficult to breathe. I remind myself not to fidget to escape my restlessness.

The discussions start off on a wrong foot. Though I did not know much of the lands, it is obvious that Garon wants far more than Sumeragi is willing to acquiesce. In fact, it is difficult to call this meeting a negotiation; King Garon poses continual demands, some of which are agreed to by King Sumeragi. No room is given for Sumeragi to pose his own terms.  
Sumeragi is not one to be shoved out of the ring, however. I can hear the steel in his voice as he cuts a path through, giving himself the right of first speech.   
But Garon gives no ground. A maddened grin deflects each of Hoshido's requests, even the tiniest such as free travel between bordering lands.  
It is not like King Sumeragi to raise his voice. I swear to hear a Dragon's roar as our King berates Garon's suffocating hold on their discussions, recounting the histories of their nations and of a past time when negotiations between them had left both satisfied. This only seems to fuel Garon's mania—he breaks out in frenzied laughter, which rings through the room. My skin chills.  
It is then that my father whispers into King Sumeragi's ear.

I realize that I had been staring at Xander, who may as well have become a stone statue, unmoving and emotionless despite rising tempers. He had not looked at me once.

Sumeragi declares that the time has come for an intermission, so that both parties may give their positions more thought. Garon spits out a hope that Sumeragi may mettle his temper once more. This costs Sumeragi his last drop of patience, and Sumeragi storms out of the room without my father— we follow.

King Sumeragi, my father, and my brother enter a private chamber to discuss private matters that did not concern me. I am left with the royal boys.  
Ryoma has taken to letting out his pent-up frustration on the air. He punches an invisible enemy, "Stupid Garon! You're such an ass!"  
Saizo is not here to scold him, so it falls to me. "Now, Prince Ryoma, such things must not be said." I hold up my palms so that I may be a more interesting target for his punches than the one in his mind; redirection had always been most effective for Prince Ryoma. I pretend not to mind as Ryoma's blows sting my hands; keeping them in constant motion so that Ryoma must focus on tracking them. He has grown strong quickly, I notice.  
I glance at Takumi, who has claimed a corner of his own to sit in, holding his knees. A ghastly look had fallen over him, and all color has withdrawn from his face. He has his own manner of dealing with stress. "Takumi," I call, wishing there were two of me.  
There's no response.  
"Takumi."  
Nothing.  
I take my leave from Ryoma, who returns to his invisible enemy. My hands burn, but I pay it no mind. I hunch down near Takumi, and ask what ails him.  
"Stomach ache," he mutters. I can barely hear it, but I understand.  
I rummage in a pouch around my waist, taking out a vial filled with a thin green paste. "Root of shiso, flower of mitsuba, to calm the stomach and mind, mixed with ginger for taste. I brewed it myself." A half-truth; I did not have anything with me to soothe the mind. Such an effect must be a trick of the one's spirit.  
I hold it out for him, expecting to need to use some persuation, but Takumi downs it without complaint and hands me the empty vial. Remarkable.  
I wait to see effects, but Takumi buries his head back into his knees. I decide to forego a scolding on using his polite words.  
"If anything changes, please have called for me. I will fetch fresh water." I pat him on the shoulder.

I feel like a court maiden, gingerly tending to the royal's children while the men are away. It is more difficult than I had expected, to manage both physical and emotional statuses of others.

I leave the two, to the common rooms of the manor, and call on of our own to watch over the princes in my absence.  
I find Xander—nay—Crown Prince Xander pacing in a hall, completely alone. His marble mask has dropped, cast aside to make room for deep thought.  
I'm certain I can slip past without being noticed, but I have many questions. "Crown Prince Xander." I test the words on my lips; they feel more forced than I am used to.  
He is taken aback; I consider it a return of the time he had startled me. "Kaze." He sounds somber; a voice reserved for funerals. "You're a Hoshidan ninja. Of Igasato."  
Hardly Hoshidans could name Igasato; our village's relation to royalty was kept intentionally vague. I cannot answer.  
"And you the Crown Prince of Nohr."  
"Indeed." It was why he need not pay.  
I try to scour his perfect face, as if to learn what Xander truly thought, but the stone of Xander's expression is too difficult for me to piece. We could not be seen together, I realize. For his sake. It would be collusion. It could be war between our nations.  
"I'm sorry," I say. It is my fault I had put us in this position.  
Xander does not reply. Then: "Me too."  
My throat constricts, keeping all I have to say inside. I did not plan for this to go this way.  
I use my only talent, planning my escape. If only I had done it much earlier.

I flee from Xander, leaving my dignity behind. My mind is so troubled, that I had forgotten that for which I had left. Luckily, Takumi seems to have forgotten as well.


	3. shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not to make myself a burden, I remind myself.   
> I repeat it in my mind to force out any other thought.   
> I am not to make myself a burden.   
> It comforts me.

The negotiations were suspended for the rest of the day, we are told. I am not given a reason; I am not important enough. As the men discuss strategy, I am left free in the evening. I am again alone. I prefer it that way, I remind myself.   
I find myself between the festival's stalls yet again, not looking at trinkets and knives and shining gemstones, but scanning through crowds, looking for a boy with golden hair. I know it is foolish, and yet, I continue to entertain the hope that I might find him, if only I stayed alert.   
Yet I cannot. I have been searching for an hour.  
  
I am alone. I had never minded the solitude; it gives me time to reflect. But now I am lonely. I miss the eagerness with which Xander explained the differences between Nohrian swords and katana; I miss how he spurred me to try delicacies that were unfamiliar to my Hoshidan tongue. I yearn to see his delight at my approval of them— none had been interested in my approval before.   
He's not coming.  
  
Of course he wouldn't come, I think. He hardly had eyes for me today. When he had learned what I was, I had become dead. It is easy to explain my feelings away with words, but it did not stop the bleeding of my heart.   
I make my way back to our lodge. My spirit leaks a bloodied path only I can see. If Xander is not there, there is no point. I had been fine attending before I had met him, but now I have been broken. Cursed, perhaps.  
  
As I leave the heart of the festival, the frequency of torches diminishes. I stick to main roads instead of finding my own path, hoping that I might catch a glance of him again. I hate myself for it.   
A concerned passerby must take pity. She asks if I have lost my parents. I have not; I've lost my friend, I want to cry out. Instead, I decline her help, using polite Nohrian dialect that Xander would have loved to hear.  
  
I do not encounter anybody else on the way back, save for a group of six soldiers, most likely Chevian royal knights. There are many, I note. Six is too many to escape detection, and yet too few to resist an organized attack. Though they are close to our lodging, I think further nothing of it. Chevian forces uphold the highest standards of honor, and we have taken only the most skilled ninja of our own to protect the royal family. Perhaps it is merely a routine patrol, I do not know— I am never involved in such matters. 

I hail them. They greet me back. All is fine.  
  
I have a private room, not of luxury, but of necessity. Our family's men are to be with their ward as much as feasible, and I had no liege. I wish to have anybody to speak of my problem with, so that it may leave my mind of its own accord. I consider finding Takumi, but banish the ridiculous thought as soon as I give it an ounce of thought. My frivolous issue is nothing but a distraction for them; I am but a tool.   
I am not to make myself a burden, I remind myself.   
I repeat it in my mind to force out any other thought.   
I am not to make myself a burden.   
It comforts me.   
I am not to make myself a burden.   
I am not to make myself a burden.   
I continue to repeat it to myself as I prepare for bed, and it becomes my mantra by the time I fall asleep.  
  
I awake to yelling. Within an instant, I am ready for a fight, barely decent. With shuriken in my hand, I dash out of my room. It's too dark to see, but I can make out three of our ninja slain in the hall. I rush towards the royals, ready to give my life in service.   
A door separates me from the royal's corridor. I shove it open, to the surprise of an enemy watchman on the other side— without hesitation, I drive a shuriken in his neck, as I was taught. The blood of my first kill coats my hand, but I must continue towards our nation's future; the Heir.

I throw open Prince Ryoma's door; he's alone. I fear the worst. But his gaze gives my brother's position away, who nearly kills me from a corner I am blind to using three shuriken, one for my throat and the others for my legs. It is a smart move, but I knew it well, and could predict it thanks to the Prince.   
My brother is already at my throat before he realizes. "You're late," he spits, shutting the door behind me.  
"King Sumeragi?" I ask, moving to cover Prince Ryoma.   
"Don't know. Ssh."  
  
The atmosphere is thick as we lie in wait. When the door would spring open, we would attack first, and ask questions later. We would take no unnecessary risks.   
But nobody comes. We stand on guard for hours— or perhaps it was only half of one; there was no way to tell.  
  
We hear a voice. "I'm coming in." It's my father's voice. We allow ourselves to relax, just a little. My father enters, blood covers him, as if he had received new skin.  
  
"Sumeragi is dead."   
My father was never one for many words.  
  
We hold torches as we inspect the remains of the battle. My father tells of what he knows: Nohrian assassins had targeted Sumeragi. They knew of our clan's tactics, and had known which of us could not resist magics. They had quickly overrun our men. King Sumeragi had valiantly slain three soldiers, while my father had been ensnared by two dark mages. Sumeragi was ravished by dark magics, drawing the life essence from him until there was none left.   
Where my brother and I have knowledge of what had happened, we give our reports. We approach my kill, and in the light, I realize I recognize this armor from my return. The group I had seen was not Chevian, but Nohrian.   
  
"I killed him. He guarded this door from the inside, posted for runaways," is my report, somehow assembled from the tempest that had started brewin in my heart. I do not speak of my role in Sumeragi's death. If I had spoken up...   
"... Well done." It is the first compliment I have received from my father. I should be proud. My first kill in service of the crown, in such crucial circumstances. It should be celebrated.   
I am ashamed of my cowardice. I bow my head, feigning gratefulness, but I know it is for forgiveness. If I speak now, perhaps my failing could be excused for incompetence instead of deceit.   
But I held my tongue. I hate myself for it. Sumeragi is dead by my hand, and I did not confess.  
  
I cannot remember much of the days that followed. Royal Hoshidan pegasus knights were sent for, who took us back home. We mourned the death of our King, who may live on in legend as the most benevolent leader our lands had known.   
At Sumeragi's funeral, it was officially announced that Lady Mikoto would become queen. She protected our lands with powerful magics, and ruled it in Sumeragi's image.   
The Nohrians, once our trusted allies, were made to be deceitful barbarians, incapable of sophisticated speech. It became illegal to associate with Nohrians for any reason. They had mounted attacks on our borders and killed our men and our King, and could not be trusted with anything. I hear it so often, that it begins to change my memories. I can hardly remember the joy Xander had brought me; only the pain I had been left with remained.  
  
And I did not confess my crime.   
  
I am not to make myself a burden. 


End file.
